


Can't Stay, Only Visiting

by Quillaninc, randi2204



Category: Voltron: Defender of the Universe, Voltron: Lion Voltron
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-07-27
Updated: 2010-07-27
Packaged: 2017-10-10 20:09:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,640
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/103792
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Quillaninc/pseuds/Quillaninc, https://archiveofourown.org/users/randi2204/pseuds/randi2204
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After many years apart, Keith catches up with Lance again.  Life moves on ... but has Lance?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Can't Stay, Only Visiting

**Author's Note:**

> This was one of a number of fics that Quill and I started intending to submit for consideration in _Ex Machina_. However, we were only a little way in when we realized that it was going to be far too long for the anthology (so we put it aside and wrote smut instead *grin*). We did eventually finish it, and then it sat upon various harddrives, lingering, awaiting edit. More than a year after we finished it, it was posted.

Keith paused on the sidewalk, his bag by his feet.  He heard the taxi drive away behind him, and knew that there was no escape.  Taking a deep breath, he started up the walk.

He didn't think it was possible for a small house to . . . _loom_ like that.  It looked almost forbidding . . .  How could such a homey looking place, with flowers by the steps and curtains blowing in the breeze, _do_ that?

The doorbell was just an ordinary chime, not nearly as ominous as it sounded in his head.  He looked around the front yard nervously, in part trying to ignore the footsteps echoing from the other end of the house.

The large elm over by the corner looked solid . . . stable . . . like it would last a lifetime, and beyond. __

_'What am I doing?'_ he wondered to himself.

And then the door opened, and he found himself looking into surprised greenish-blue eyes.  He noted the faint laughter lines that would normally crinkle around their edges, if those eyes weren't quite as wide as they were now.

"Hey," he heard himself say, and shot for a comforting smile.  It came out uneasy.

"Hey," Lance's voice came back, and he noticed the husky depths it had developed over the past twenty years.

And then he was invited inside this home, this place that could have held so many dreams for the both of them . . .  if only . . . __

_'If only I hadn't been such an ass . . .'_

Keith shoved that thought away, and tried to concentrate on Lance.  It wasn't hard to slip back into old habits.  In fact, it was almost something of a relief to be able to. 

"So  . . . "  Lance broke his gaze away and shoved his hands into the pockets of his tidy, fashionable jeans, and Keith felt that stab again at how familiar the gesture was.  "Long time, hey, Keith?"

"It has."   _'You've no idea how long . . .'_  Twenty years.  Each one of those years had crawled by.  For days on end, he'd found he could forget the way he'd felt about the man in front of him now.  But then something would happen, or he'd catch a glimpse of someone in the street, as they turned their head just _so_, and it would all come flooding back.  "I . . . I hope I'm not intruding . . ."

Lance shook his head and shrugged.  "Nah, just doing the usual Saturday house stuff."  With a nod towards what Keith could only assume was the kitchen, he casually offered, "Coffee?"

Keith accepted with another uncomfortable nod and followed him through to a bright, open plan space.  Charcoal toned benches gleamed against pale cream cupboards, matte finished steel accessories, and a simple round table and chairs in a rich teak colour set on the other side of a dividing bench.

Somehow, it was very 'Lance' . . . and yet, not.

He had to remember . . . Lance wasn't his.  Not any more.

And then he couldn't help but notice how solid Lance appeared under the deep blue of his shirt, not quite the whippet-lean youth he'd once known . . .

. . . and how strong and capable those fine fingered hands had grown as the other set out mugs and stirred in cream and sugar the way Keith had always liked . . .

. . . and the warm, rich tan the rolled back sleeves revealed, the kind achieved by long hours working in the sun . . .

. . . and he wondered again why he was here.

Then the coffee mugs were placed on the table, and he slid into his seat at Lance's invitation.  And, as Lance lifted his mug and cradled it in both hands, elbows propped on the table, he remembered.

"So . . . how's life treating you, Keith?"  Lance's casual question was so generic, so bland, it could have come from a stranger.

In a way, it had.

Keith shifted nervously.  At this very moment, he couldn't help but think that this was a bad idea.  Nothing good would come of this.  After all, Pidge had _told_ him that Lance was involved with someone, and almost as much as said that if he were looking for a reconciliation, he probably wasn't going to get one.

After talking with Pidge, he'd fingered the scrap of paper on which he'd scribbled the address, and wondered.  It had taken a week for him to make up his mind.

And now he wondered if a week had been too hasty.

He looked down at his coffee mug, running his finger around the rim.  "Oh, not too badly." He gave Lance a half-smile, glancing up through thick bangs.  But the sight of those cool eyes over the rim of Lance's mug sent his own down again.  "Always kind of busy.  At least I'm out of GG now, and don't have to pack myself up and move every time my tour is up."

As soon as he said the words, he winced.  _'Wrong thing to say.  Oh, Christ.'_

To his surprise, Lance didn't flinch like he expected.  He merely pursed his lips in thought and nodded.  "Must admit, I never expected to see that," he remarked.

Then he moved his left hand away from the mug, in the process of setting back on the table, and Keith noticed the faint scrape, the sound that metal makes against dull ceramic.

His eyes widened slightly.

Pidge never mentioned _that_.

He scrambled for something to say, something that wouldn't come out garbled and incoherent and . . . accusing.  "When . . . when did you get married?"

This time, Lance did wince.  "Thought you knew.  About fifteen years now."  He shrugged, that awkward kind that said he didn't want to discuss it.  There was a pained expression lurking in his eyes, one Keith couldn't quite identify.

"No.  No, I didn't know," he replied softly.  He closed his eyes against the glittering gold band, and berated himself.  _'See?  Pidge was right.  And now I know why he was so reluctant to give me Lance's address . . .'_

There was no chance for him.  Lance was forever beyond his reach now, committed to someone else.  He shouldn't have come.

But he was here, now, and he had to make small talk until he could make good his escape.

Summoning up a smile from somewhere, and hoping it looked genuine, he met Lance's gaze once more.  "Congratulations, much belated."

Lance looked away quickly, that strange emotion flickering in his eyes.  "Thanks."

Unwilling to pick up the earlier thread of conversation, and unable to continue this one, in desperation, Keith asked, "And yourself?  How are you doing?"

Lance shrugged again and took a sip of his coffee.  A nervous gesture, Keith suddenly recognised, one from a long way back.  The ache worsened.

Then Lance offered him a sad smile, and it looked so . . . so . . . so wrong.  "Better than I was," he said cryptically.  "Working on all those landscape designs, and with plants and earth and . . . yeah.  It's rather therapeutic, y'know?"

And then he smiled again, not quite as sad as before, as though he'd come to peace with . . . something.

"That's good," Keith replied, floundering.  This . . . this _new_ Lance, who looked like the one he knew years ago but carried some dreadful weight other than mere years . . . this _married_ Lance, who had somehow managed to find happiness without him . . . he was a familiar stranger.  Keith felt painfully out of place here, but that pain was nothing compared to the ache that surrounded his heart.

"Landscaping?" He forced a grin.  "Still playing in dirt, huh?"

Then Lance grinned his old familiar grin, and the years evaporated. "Still slinging it, huh?" he laughed back, then got up and gestured towards the window.  "Wanna see?"

Relief flowed through Keith at the sight of that smile, and brought an answering one to his lips, real this time.  "What, and see what a disaster area you've made of your backyard? You bet!" Abandoning his mug, he stood and walked over to the window.

If only he could forget the years . . . If only they could stay like this, as they had been on Arus, laughing and poking gentle fun and . . .

. . .and in love.

Keith shut off that thought, but not quickly enough to stop the regrets from filling him again.

After Lance pointed out a few details through the glass, he turned to Keith and gave him that goofy kind of smile Keith had known so well.  "This is really dumb.  How 'bout we actually go out there, huh?"

"Yeah, that's better."  They trooped out the kitchen door, and rounded the corner of the house.

The yard was . . . well, it was lovely.  A tall, sturdy looking fence gave the yard a kind of a back drop, completely cutting off any views of the neighbors' gardens.  A stand of young trees clustered to his left, with a bit of mulch around their bases.  When full grown, they would offer cool shade to the house as the sun westered.  On the other side, there was a rock fountain, made of what looked like fieldstone and bound with coloured cement, so that the seams between the mismatched stones were not glaringly obvious.

In front of him stretched a raked dirt path that led into what appeared to be a veritable profusion of flowers, as if they were thrown together at random.  He took a step forward, and saw that the path wandered through the flowering beds, this way and that, and that the plants were strictly arranged into their seeming chaos.

"It . . . it's gorgeous, Lance," he said, his voice hushed.  "I . . . I don't think I've ever seen anything quite like it."

Lance flushed with embarrassed pride.  "Thanks.  It's a work in progress, really.  Basically, I tend to use the space to try out stuff for designs.  It gets a bit eclectic down the back there . . . c'mon, I'll show you."

"Sure," Keith replied, matching his stride to Lance's.

They set a comfortable pace, strolling through the blooms. Lance took the trouble to point out some of his favourite layouts, or a particular plant that had been hard to grow.  The further along the path they walked, the denser the vegetation became along the fence lines, until they reached a quasi-rainforest scheme that looked more established than the rest.

Actually, the path was longer than Keith expected, the yard far more extensive than it originally appeared to be.  "Quite some property you've got here, Lance," he observed conversationally.

Lance smiled back, eyes deep with reminiscing.  "Yeah, we bought it like this when we first moved out here.  Not the garden, though . . . it was an absolute wreck when we bought the place.  Took a few years just to get this bit into shape, but I'm kinda happy with it now."

His body kept walking, but Keith was sure that he'd left his heart somewhere back down the path, and he found himself searching out Lance's hand, just to remind himself, that the "we" didn't include him.

It would never include him again. __

_'I wonder what his name is . . . I wonder when he'll be back home . . . And can I get away from here before then, because I don't think I could stand to meet this guy . . .'_

He realized that Lance had been speaking while he'd been lost in thought, and guiltily tuned himself back in again, trying to pick up the thread of the conversation.

" . . . but, of course, everything changed after that, so . . . Keith?"  Lance was looking at him, all strange like, and Keith wondered if he was as pale as he felt.  "You ok?"

The smile felt sick and false, pasted on his lips.  "Yeah.  Just jet lag, I guess."

Desperately, he looked around for something to change the subject to, eyes darting everywhere.  That's when he spotted it: a gleaming, dark red Harley restored to perfect condition. 

Parked underneath the protective canopy of a partially enclosed carport, which in turn was connected to a well presented workshop, it was something so Lance, he had to smile. "Nice bike," he said, nodding.

Lance's eyes flicked in the direction of the bike and he grinned.  "Oh, that?  That's Craig's.  Adores the damn thing.  Mind you, he's put enough hours into it."

Keith flinched, smile dying.  It had been hard enough when he _hadn't_ known the guy's name.

With a name, though . . . he became a person.  Not just some nebulous being that he could hate unconditionally.  Craig.  Craig had that fabulous bike, he had feelings, he had hopes and dreams . . .

And Lance.  _'And I have nothing.'_

"Does he, now?" His voice sounded even enough to his ears, and he hoped to Lance's.  "I like the colour.  Does he ride it or is it just for showing off?"

Lance snickered.  "A bit of both, I think."  Then he grinned.  "The colour was my idea though."

"Oh, really?" He glanced at Lance, surprised.  Red was _his_ favorite colour, not Lance's.

Lance's grin turned slightly chagrined, like a little boy caught out and not hiding his delight at it particularly well.  "Yeah . . . well, y'know . . ."

Suddenly, a door in the house banged, and both men spun around, startled.

A ragged looking blonde jogged into sight along the pathway.  "Hey, Lance!  Just letting you know I'm not gonna be in toni—Oh!"  The younger man stopped and smiled, a cheerful grin.  "Hi," he said to Keith.

Lance grimaced slightly.  "Hey.  Ahm . . . Keith, this is Craig.  Craig, Keith."  Gesturing between the two as he made the introductions, he suddenly felt uncomfortable, and stuffed his hands back into his jeans pockets.  "Keith was just admiring your bike."

Craig beamed.  "Not bad, is it?  Here, c'mon!  Let me show you," he offered excitedly to the bemused Keith.

All Keith could think was, there was no way this man was old enough to be married for fifteen years.

But then again, looks could be deceiving.

Well, even if he _was_ old enough, the blond bounded over to the bike with all the energy of a much younger man.  Following him very reluctantly, wishing for an escape route with all of his being, Keith quite suddenly felt each of his forty-one years.

And imagining Lance behind him, grinning, didn't help much.

He dragged his attention back to Craig's words, as the younger man knelt by the bike and started to explain in detail—to Keith, _excruciating_ detail—about what he'd done to restore the bike.

"Of course, the paint is modern, there's no way to get around that, but Lance helped me get this particular colour, and even helped with the detailing, here . . ."

Keith raised his eyes, looking for Lance, and found that he'd followed them, and was now leaning against the side of the carport, watching them intently.  But the blue-green eyes were hooded, now, giving away nothing, and Keith found himself at rather a loss. __

_'How the hell am I going to get away from here?'_  He was holding himself together with sheer willpower, keeping himself from breaking down—or perhaps from lashing out—by the slightest of margins.

He wondered if Lance could sense how close to snapping he was.

"Say," Craig suddenly stopped his prattle and cast a look between the other two men.  "Why don't you stay and keep the old man here company for supper, and we can talk about it later?"

Looking into bright, expectant eyes, Keith didn't see how he could refuse gracefully.  His control slipped another dangerous knot.

"Y'know, Keith probably has stuff of his own to do, Craig," Lance cut in.  "How 'bout some other time?"

Unable to contain his gratitude, Keith nodded.  "Thanks for the invitation, but yes, I do have some things to take care of today.  Sorry."

Craig cocked his head.  "You sure?  I think sometimes he misses the good old days . . ." He broke off, but grinned unrepentantly at Lance's quick glare.

Watching their by-play confused and hurt Keith even more.  He tried to keep his voice light as he replied.  "I am sorry.  I wouldn't be very good company, anyway.  I've got a horrible case of jet lag I need to sleep off . . ."

Craig got to his feet.  "Oh, well.  I guess it'll have to be, then."  He held his hand, and Keith noticed a tiny stain of grease on the palm.  "Nice meeting you."

Keith nodded, dredging up yet another insincere smile, and shook his hand.  "Same here."  He turned to Lance.  "I . . . I'll see you later, then."  _'Much later,'_ he qualified silently.  _'Or maybe . . . not at all.'_

He headed back into the house, to grab his bag and leave.

* * *

"So," Craig said while dumping his college bag inside his door.  "That's Keith, huh?"

Lance smiled softly.  "Yeah, that's Keith."  Looking at his young companion with one of his long, searching gazes, he leant against the doorframe and waited for the inevitable remark.

Craig, being Craig, took sadistic delight in taking out his books and generally messing at his desk near the door just to annoy Lance.  It was one of those irritating things he'd learnt to live with. 

But, just as Lance was about to give up and reach over to clip him round the ear, Craig tossed out with casual consideration, "I like him."

Lance blinked, surprised.  "Oh.  Really?"  It was something that had bothered him, since Keith had arrived . . . what the rest of the family would think.

Just then, Craig looked up beneath his long, sandy bangs and smiled a comforting smile.  "Yeah.  And I think Damien would've, too."

Lance could feel his face relax into an irrepressible smile.  "Yeah?" he asked softly, really needing to hear the reassurance right at this moment.

Craig straightened up, and before Lance knew it, he was engulfed in a strong embrace.  Instinct borne of many years had him returning the tight, masculine hug.  He couldn't speak; grief rose swiftly to hold him captive, as it had so often.

"Yeah," he heard Craig reply in a voice equally choked with sorrow.  "Yeah, he would've."

His lips tightened with the effort to hold it all in, and he clapped a heavy, comforting hand against Craig's shoulder before letting go.  "Thanks," was all he could choke out.

Craig squeezed his shoulder in return and offered a watery smile of his own.  "Any time, bro.  Any time."

With a warm smile, Lance stepped away and took the two steps needed to take him through the door.  Remembering an earlier remark, he turned back.  "So, I gather you're out for the evening?"

Craig looked puzzled, then grinned.  "Oh!  Yeah!  Sorry, I was going to tell you before, but then . . ."

Lance nodded, a soft smile of understanding gracing his features.  "But then there was the whole Keith and the bike thing, and you forgot, right?"

The young blonde looked unabashed.  "That's about it!" he replied cheerfully, sidestepping around Lance to get through to the bathroom.

Lance grinned.  "So who's it tonight?  Debbie?"

Craig shook his head, and if anything, managed to grin wider than Lance.  "Nope, tonight it's So-phie!"

With a wry chuckle, Lance waved him to go do whatever young men felt they had to do to get ready for a date these days.

* * *

  
As much as he _wanted_ to just _leave_, and not have to face Lance and his . . . his husband again, Keith found that he just couldn't.  Twenty years of silence wouldn't let him leave—and for good, this time—without saying good-bye.

So he found himself ringing that not-quite death-knell doorbell again, and listening for Lance's footsteps.  Very quickly, hearing someone approaching the door, he ran through the story he'd prepared once more.  _'Sorry about this, called back into work suddenly, very important, wish I could stay . . .'_ __

_'I wish I could have stayed then, too.'_  But he shook that thought away, because the memories attached were just too much to handle, and there was no way he wanted Lance to find him dissolving into despair on the doorstep.

And just in time, too, as the door started to open.

"Keith!"  The voice that greeted him was obviously delighted . . . and obviously not Lance's.

He blinked.  "Oh!  Hi, Craig . . . um, is Lance at home?"

Craig smiled warmly.  "Hey . . . he's out for a bit, but c'mon in anyway.  We should, y'know . . . talk."

Keith shifted from one foot to the other.  _That_ did not bode well.  But gracious refusal was out of the question, the way that Craig was grinning and standing to one side to let him in.  So he swallowed his sigh.  "Ok.  Thanks."

It was the second time in as many days that he'd walked into this entrance, and neither occasion had been exactly an easy one.

"Sit down," Craig offered magnanimously, directing Keith towards the kitchen table once more.  "Cream and sugar, right?"

Keith looked up, startled.  "Yeah . . . right."  How in the world did he know _that_?

It was just on the tip of his tongue to ask, when Craig glanced at him, and saw his apparently shocked expression.  "Lance happens to mention things," he offered by way of explanation.  "I happen to have remembered that one."

Keith could only nod, speechless.  _'Lance talks about me . . . with his husband?'_

He felt like he was walking a tightrope over a swirling pit of raw emotion, and that a single wrong step would send him plummeting into the abyss.

While Craig chatted easily about final year of med school before deciding on internships, and how little time he had left to himself, and clunked the spoon into the mug in the noisy manner which Keith knew Lance hated, Keith became more and more focused on the sick, ominous feeling in the pit of his stomach.

The mug of steaming, rich smelling liquid appeared beneath his nose, and he started a little.

Craig didn't seem to take any notice, plonking himself easily into the chair opposite and gulping a mouthful of his own strong brew.

"So . . . How serious are you about Lance . . . really?"

Keith jumped, hot coffee sloshing in his mug, but thankfully not over the brim and onto his hand.  Hastily, he set the cup back down on the table, and simply _stared_ at the blond man across from him.  His mouth worked, but no sound came, as Craig calmly sipped, watching him.

"E-excuse me?" he asked at last, his voice weak.  "I . . ."

Craig blinked slightly, then shook his head and grumbled to himself.  Keith vaguely caught hints of 'talk about being an idiot' and 'put brain in gear, then mouth', before the younger man scraped his chair back and disappeared into the other room with a firm, "Look, just stay put, 'kay?"

A few moments later, he returned with an old fashioned photo album, edged in a similar matte-metal finish as the kitchen.  "Here," he said, slipping it in front of Keith. "I think you need to see this."

"What do I . . ." Involuntarily, his eyes followed a slim finger down onto the first page of the photo album, to see Lance and Craig . . .

His heart lurched.  No, the man in the picture looked like Craig, but wasn't him.  For one thing, he was several years older, perhaps even a year or two older than Lance himself.  He also wasn't quite as tall as Craig.

"Who is that?" he asked, then winced upon hearing the words aloud, because he hadn't meant to speak.

"That's Damien."  Craig looked at Keith, faintly puzzled.  "Lance said this morning he'd told you yesterday about . . . ah."  Those young eyes grew suddenly wise.  "You didn't catch that bit, did you?"

Keith shook his head, helplessly mute for a moment.  The utter _happiness_ in Lance's face—and Damien's, for that matter—in the picture completely took his breath away.  He swallowed hard, and found his voice.  "This . . . this is their wedding day?"

Craig's smile became sorrowful as he traced a finger over the photograph.  "Yeah.  They'd met when Damien started this landscaping project at a friend of Lance's.  Pitch, or Pi . . . well, something starting with P.  I never did get that name right, and he still pays me out!  See?  There's some of Damien's design in the background there.  Lance has always been so proud of that picture . . . they both were."

Keith caught the grief in his voice, and tore his eyes away from the picture with great difficulty.  "Were?  What happened?"

Craig gave him a lop-sided smile.  "I guess you missed the whole thing, didn't you?"

Still smiling softly, he reached over and pulled a scrap of paper from inside a notebook on the table.  Keith was puzzled as the blonde scribbled something on it, tucking a persistent strand of hair behind his ear at least twice as he did so.

Then he handed the paper to Keith with a solemn look.  "Y'know, maybe you'd better go see for yourself.  That's where Lance is."

Keith blinked, staring at the address on the page.  "What's he doing there?" was all he could think of to ask.

Craig smiled that lopsided smile again, and replied, "Visiting Damien."

* * *

Craig had assured him that it was no trouble at all, and gave him a brief ride on the bike, dropping him off a short walk from the address.

Passing the huge old oaks and the stone wall, Keith found himself wondering if he hadn't made a wrong turn.

Reaching the gate, he frowned, then checked the scrawled address once more, matching it against the street number on the plaque nearby.

But no.  It was the right place.  Hillcrest Cemetery.

Visiting Damien suddenly took on a whole new meaning.

Hesitantly, Keith stepped in, and glanced around, searching for Lance's familiar figure.  Not seeing him immediately, he started walking through the rows of headstones and monuments, nervously turning his head this way and that. __

_'And when I find him, what am I going to say? How can I possibly say anything after all this time?'_

Maybe the words would come when he found him.

Maybe . . . maybe.

Then, he caught sight of him, sitting against a tree near a rose marble headstone.  The brown head was leant back against the trunk of the tree, and he looked relaxed, as if this were something he'd done often.

Quietly, trying not to disturb him, Keith strode up the slight incline.  Words floated down the breeze, soft and intimate, just barely audible, even as he took up a position next to the tree.

". . . you know, I never thought I'd love again, not after Keith.  I guess that's what makes what we had so damn special.  I still miss you, you know that?  Going on two years, and I still miss you."

Keith's heart twisted in his chest.  _'I never _wanted_ to leave you,'_ he thought, wishing that Lance could hear.  _'And I never meant to be such a . . . such an utter ass about it in the end, either.  I just . . . I didn't understand your point of view.  And . . . for you to go through so much pain . . . I _never_ wanted that.'_

"Craig says he likes him.  Reckons you would've too.  I'm not too sure what to think.  I guess I'm just too close to things. 

"Craig's doing well by the way, which is kind of a relief . . . he was quite a worry there for a while.  Hey, I don't need to be telling you that anyway.  But, he's getting his life on track . . . studying hard, and he's got a stack of friends, and he's even dating again, which is really good see.  You'd be proud of him.

"I dunno what to think, Damien.  It's like the guy's come back from the past to haunt me, and part of me wants him to be here, but another part . . . well, I don't want to be the guy he leaves behind again.  I don't think I could cope, if he did . . . not after losing you already."

Keith closed his eyes.  There was nothing he regretted more than leaving Lance.

"I want to trust him . . . I really want to.  I'm just not so sure whether he really wants to be with me.  I wish you were here Damien." Here, Lance gave a bitter laugh. ". . . but then again, if you were, this' d be a moot point anyway."

"I want you to trust me."  Keith's voice was no louder than Lance's had been, but it still made the other jump, his head whipping up in the direction of the words.  "That's not all I want . . . but it's a place to start anyway."  He gave Lance a small smile, and waited for the explosion.

Lance looked at him, long and intently; the depths in his eyes gave Keith nothing to go on, and made him shuffle his feet nervously. 

"What's the rest?" Lance finally asked, his tone curious yet deepened marginally by an unsettling flutter in his stomach.

His mouth twisted in a bitter smile, and he lowered himself to the grass beside Lance.  "You mean the part where I tell you why I suddenly show up now, after 20 years?"  He looked away, unable to meet those sharp eyes for very long.  "Or do you mean the part where I tell you that I never stopped loving you, even though it all ended badly?  The part where I tell you how . . . hollow I felt when I realized yesterday that you'd moved on . . ." His gaze flicked up to meet Lance's briefly.

Lance gave him a small smile and waved his hand encouragingly.  "Go on," he grinned slightly.

Keith sighed softly.  Lance wanted the whole nine yards.  '_I can't say as I blame him._'  "And I'm not forgetting that it was my own . . . hard-headedness and . . . and lack of understanding that led us to . . . well, to this."  He closed his eyes.  "And don't think that I haven't spent all these years regretting it, either.

"My life . . . well, it's _empty_ without you.  It just took me 20 years to find the courage to tell you that I'm sorry for driving you out of it.  I'm sorrier than I can ever say."  He made a move as if to stand up.

A hand gripped his wrist and stilled him.

"Keith, what happened to us?  No, really . . . I want to know.  This has been on my mind, for quite a while, and it's not like you ever gave me a satisfactory answer.  At least tell me, was it more than just that you didn't want to leave work?  Was it someone else?  Please, just tell me . . . what was it?"

Lance's words were very soft, almost pleading.  It was about the thing he least wanted to do in this life, but Keith forced himself to look into the blue-green eyes, and speak the truth.  It came out in a whisper, just floating on the edge of hearing.  "I . . . I was afraid."

Lance turned to sit sideways on the grass, facing Keith.  His brows furrowed, just a bit . . . but enough for Keith to see that this expression, as well as the laughter, had left its mark on Lance's face.

"Of what?" Lance's puzzled question brought him back from his uncomfortable introspection.

Keith gave him a wry grin.  "Of you."

Then, as Lance blinked, his expression melting into surprise, he cast his eyes down, studying the grass, and twining a blade about his fingers.  "Or maybe it was more the way you made me feel.  I . . . I had never felt so strongly about any one in my life.  And that . . . that intensity scared me.  I . . . It was like you turned on every emotion in me, or made me feel them all completely . . . I don't know.  But . . . that's the reason why.  There wasn't anyone else; I didn't have room in my heart for anybody but you.

"So I made it be all about work, and keeping the galaxy safe." He shrugged, then glanced up again.  "And I acted like a class-A jerk."

Lance struggled with a grin.  "That you did," he replied. 

Then his free hand found Keith's, and he entwined his fingers with the other man's. His thumb began running over the back of Keith's hand in an instinctive gesture . . . no thought to it at all, just a gentle stroking that belonged to a time Keith had thought was gone.

"Y'know, maybe I shouldn't've let you go, either.  But, y'know something, Keith?  You weren't the only one who was scared."

He blinked, pulling his mind away from how it _felt_ to be touching Lance again after so long, and trying not to dwell on how _good_ it was.  "I . . . I wasn't?" he asked, shocked.

Lance just shook his head, his smile soft and affectionate. "I could never figure out what a guy like you would want with a klutzy loud-mouth like me.  I . . . I guess I wanted you to prove something to me . . . which was kinda dumb, really."  He sighed and looked down at their joined hands.  "Guess you weren't the only class-A jerk, huh?"

"Well, I wouldn't want to corner the market on that . . ." he said, laughing weakly.  But he quickly sobered, and looked at Lance.  "So . . . what happens next?" he asked quietly, tightening his grip.  "I . . . I don't want to . . . belittle what you and Damien had together . . ."

Lance laughed, in spite of himself.  "Hell!  After being married nearly fourteen years?  Not gonna happen, Keith . . . sorry."  His laughter died away as he caught Keith's slight wince.  "But . . . I guess you didn't want to hear that, did you?"

"It's not like I didn't expect it." Keith shrugged, trying to hide the pain that the statement had brought.  "I . . . I just want to know.  Do you think there's a chance . . . for us?  Again?  Even after all this time?" His voice grew softer as he continued, until finally he had to strain to hear himself.  And then he stopped, closing his eyes, and waited for Lance's response, hoping.

Lance looked uneasy.  "I'd like there to be . . . but I've got to ask you, do you really think you can deal with the fact I've had someone else in my life?"

He opened his mouth to give the unequivocal _yes!_, then thought better of it.  "I . . . I _think_ so.  I've only had a week to get used to the idea that you were seeing someone, and a little less than a day to accept that you've been married for so long . . ." He swallowed heavily.  "But . . . I want to give it a try."  He could feel a wayward tear trying to sneak out, and took a deep breath.  "I . . . want it to _work_ this time . . ."

The fingers holding his loosened themselves, and he felt bereft for it.  Until they slid their backs along his upper cheek, wiping away the trail moisture that glimmered on his lashes.

"Keith, I . . ." Faltering mid thought, Lance closed his eyes and tried to get his words straight in his mind.  "I . . . damn it, Keith!"

Then Keith found himself pulled roughly into the other man's embrace, and was surprised to discover that Lance was trembling.

For an endless moment, he lost himself in the feel of it, letting himself sink into memory and holding hard to the familiar body against him.

It was almost like no time had passed at all, and they were still back then . . .

But Lance's shivers did not subside, and Keith began to stroke his hand up and down his back, trying to soothe him, to coax him into a coherent reply.  "Lance?"

Suddenly, he dreaded what Lance might say in answer to his plea, and the urge to run came over him, too strong to be ignored.

He just couldn't let Lance go to climb to his feet.  He just closed his eyes once more and hung on.

Lance turned his face to hide in the crook of Keith's neck, and Keith was surprised to feel the telltale dampness of tears.

"Oh, God . . . this is ridiculous," he heard him groan.  A tiny shiver skittered across his skin at the feel of Lance's lips moving there, and he suppressed a tiny groan of his own.

Then the shiver chilled as he caught Lance's next words.  "I don't believe this.  I spent enough time with _him _crying over _you_ . . ."

But, before he could react, Lance seemed to pull himself together and extricated himself from their embrace.  The smile he offered Keith was determined, if wavering a little around the edges.

"Aw, hell, Keith . . . Some reunion this is, huh?" Lance offered by way of apology.

Keith smiled slightly, and reached out to tuck a flyaway strand of brown hair back into place.  "It's all right," he said, and wasn't sure just what he was accepting with that remark.  Was Lance rejecting him after all?  Was there really _nothing_ he could do?

But that smile . . . Hope froze him, took away the strength from his limbs. __

_'Please, Lance.'_

Lance tilted his head towards that wandering hand, still smiling.  "I . . . I guess I don't want to ask how much you can promise me, Keith … but I've gotta know."  His lips tightened and he looked down, discomforted by the riotous emotions taking control right now.

"I . . . I guess I'm still scared," Keith heard him whisper.

"So am I."

Lance shuddered once and then sat, unmoving, still not meeting Keith's eyes.

Keith took heart from the fact that Lance wasn't running away, hadn't pulled away from the hand he could not control, and let his fingers drift over the dampened cheek.  "I don't want to make promises I can't keep," he said quietly.  "You know that."

Then he lifted Lance's chin, so that he could look into those eyes that had always so entranced him.  "But I will promise that I will do everything I can to . . . to be open with you this time.  And I promise that I won't leave . . . unless you want me to." He shivered; those words had come hard, but they needed to be said.

"And I promise . . . I do still love you, as much now as I ever did."

Lance said nothing, just stared at him, eyes welling a bit.

At Lance's extended silence, Keith grew nervous again.  "Did I . . . I didn't mean to upset you . . ."

"You didn't."  That warm voice made husky from emotion tickled something inside.  "I just don't want to disappoint you."

His throat closed and his mouth went dry on hearing those words.  '_Oh, no,'_ he thought, despairing at last, _'this is it.'_

But he hid it, or tried to, and attempted a comforting smile.  "I . . . I don't think you will.  If it's what you truly feel, whatever you tell me . . . won't disappoint me."

"I . . . I don't want to forget him, Keith.  No matter how things go between us, how much I might actually . . . love you, even now . . . I don't want to forget him."  Lance blinked the tears away again, eyes full of sorrow.  "He was too good a man to do that to.  That's what I'm afraid of . . . that being with you might make me forget."

This time, the smile felt a bit more genuine.  "If you really don't want to forget him, you won't.  If . . . if he made you happy, then you will always have that . . ." He pulled his hand away.  "And . . . I don't want you to forget him, either.  He's part of who you are."

Lance's soft sigh of relief drained the tension from him, tension Keith hadn't quite been aware of until now.  "I wasn't sure you'd understand that . . ."

His hand reached out and searched for Keith's again, grasping it desperately when he'd found it.  He looked Keith in the eye, and his smile held all the emotion, all the gratitude, all the hope he felt.  "Thank you."

Keith squeezed Lance's hand in return, overwhelmed by the look on his face, by the complete . . . _acceptance_ of all he'd been wanting to give.  "You're welcome," he managed finally, his voice a bit thick.

Then he scooted a little closer and cautiously slid an arm around Lance's waist, and quietly relished the way Lance settled comfortably into his shoulder, and the woody, dusky scent that teased his nostrils and reminded him of other, younger times, and a myriad of other tiny thoughts and sensations . . .

And for a while, they just sat, looking out over the regimented headstones and being with each other.


End file.
